Repressed Memories
by Trill the Mass Murderer
Summary: Descole, with a ideal villainous life, begins breaking down from past regrets. -I wrote this for a friend. Please leave kind reviews for her!-
1. Beginning

_Like it had happened before, and like he knew it always would, twelve year old Francis felt the balled up fist of his stepfather's into the back of his ribs. He let out the smallest whimper but wouldn't go beyond there. He would always be punished worse if he made it too obvious that something stirring was occurring to their neighbors. As the back of his head was throbbing in pain from the drunken man pulling at his hair, he closed his eyes shut, as if to try and escape from the abuse. It never worked._

_He felt another hand to his ribs and whimpered more pathetically then before, but didn't stir or cause a fuss. Before he could apologize, he was pulled into a bedroom by his stepfather's grasp on his hair. He heard the door slam as he opened his eyes and noticed the light green walls and the familiar blue unmade bed sheets. It was his bedroom._

"_I told you, you couldn't eat until you finished your chores." His slurred raspy voice was whispered in Francis's ear, as he was sat down on his own bed by the man. The drunken stepfather let go of his hair and grabbed his shirt color. "I've told you, haven't I?"_

_Francis just nodded. His blue eyes began to well up in fear. Sure, the man had been angry before, but he never saw him this angry. Nothing like this before, though he was more scared of what was to come to him._

"_And how long? How long have I told you?"_

_Francis licked his full lips in fear before answering. "Since I was six." He whispered frightened._

_His stepfather narrowed his eyes and grabbed his hair again, not pulling as hard as before. "And you could only eat until after you're finished, right?" He asked and the boy nodded. Suddenly, the rage in his face became even more real and furious as he gripped his hair harder and pushed his head to the bedpost. "Then why the fuck did I catch you eating the biscuits?" He yelled, but toned his voice down carefully, as not to cause a stir._

_The brunette boy held his head were it had collided with the wooden bedpost and began sobbing harder. "I-I…" He began explaining but was so rudely interrupted but his stepfather._

"_What!"_

"_I thought I finished them!" He cried and buried his face in his arms, scared for another slap._

"_You didn't take out the trash!" His stepfather's drunken fury ended up in hitting him in the stomach grabbing his wrists, holding them down on the bed. "You ungrateful little fuck. Do you have any idea what I do for you, and what I teach you? Do you even know how lucky you are to have me?" He sat on the bed next to the boy's body, now sprawling the brunette's legs on the sheets. "You are never going to eat in this household again. Not like you need to. A boy your age needs to learn to thrive. You have been fed too much anyway. You gluttonous little brat." He paused for a moment, as if to think and then grabbed suddenly changed the grasp of both of his hands on both wrists, to one strong hand holding both still above the boy's head. "I'll teach you a fucking lesson."_

_With his free hand, he began undoing his belt. He saw Francis look in fear and then close his eyes, again as if to hide. A small smirk arose on the man's face as he noticed the hurt in the boy's expression. He undid his pants and then moved to the boy, undoing his and pulling both his pants and his undershorts off quickly. Then, almost with no problem, he undid every button on both of their shirts, but kept them on their shoulders. "I'll teach you a lesson." He repeated softly and raspier then before._

_Opening his blue eyes was going to be a mistake, but Francis was so curious as to what was going to happen, but that did not change the fact that he didn't want it. He could imagine the worst, and that scared him most of all. As he indulged in his vision, he watched his stepfather move closer to him and plant his mouth on his lips. A small pitiful whimper arose in his throat as he felt the man's hot tongue graze over his teeth._

_What was happening to the boy was something he had never encountered. As almost a teenage boy, the innocence of sex was something not heavily enforced but the physicality of the situation was a process he had never faced. And he wasn't sure what to expect._

_Drunkenly, the man moved away and slurred in the boy's ear, "You're going to fucking get it now," and pulled off his own clothes, lying on top of the brunette with as much force as possible._

"_D-don't hurt me, Daddy." Francis whispered courageously and forced his eyes close when he felt the man's mouth on his chest._

_His stepfather snickered before muttering, "Hurt you?" He kissed his stepson's neck, sucking on the skin to create a darkened red mark just above his collar bone, then moved his lips back to his ear. "Oh I'm going to do so much worse…"_

Jean Descole woke up in a cold sweat, blue eyes forced open in fear. He looked around the room, and didn't see any familiar blue sheets and green walls. A sudden impulse of relief and discontentment, forced him to sit up in his bed, his hands buried in his hair. His heavy breathing began to strain his chest and cause an anxious burn in his lungs. He needed to calm down.

He hated how he could remember those particular events like they had happened yesterday. Especially that one. The day his innocence was stolen was as clear to him as a picture. All his life he had tried to forget, but something, usually a dream, always brought the memory back. That evil man, forcing him into starvation and rigorous training and chores, and worst of all, forcing himself on him.

He looked up slightly, trying to see familiar remnants of that particular house so he could get the image of being at his old house away. He was gone. His stepfather was long gone. He was safe at home, in his own bed. Why couldn't he help but feel so insecure.

"Olivier?" He heard from behind his seated position and felt a hand on his back. "What's going on?"

Jean licked his lips again and turned to the familiar face. An uneasy expression was strewn upon the attractive face as he realized he probably seemed a little suspicious. He gave a half smile to the handsome man as he watched him sit up next to him, and shook his head. "Nothing." He answered and felt a hand around his waist. "Just a nightmare." He said in a hushed tone and lifted a hand to his bedmate's brown hair, running his fingers though the locks.

"Care to talk about it?"

Jean shrugged. "What's there to talk about?" He smiled before planting a kiss on his lips. In return, he received a similar, devious smile. "Just a dream." He kissed the man's lips again, but this time led them to a laying position. He wasn't sure if sex would be the right answer for an uncomfortable occasion such as one like this, but he decided at least it was safe. So, what the hell.

After a passionate session, the two eventually departed from the other's grasp, and Jean went to sleep with no nightmares afterwards.

..

Jean woke up with a start when he realized he was alone in his bed. Before he could even think of where his partner could have gone off too, he decided to take a shower and get dressed, which is exactly what he did.

When he departed his bedroom, the last thing he wanted to do was muster up the will power to make himself coffee and cut an apple into pieces for breakfast. He walked into the kitchen to find the handsome man standing with two cups of coffee ready for the start of the day.

"Alexander, you are amazing." Jean commented and greeted him with a kiss, taking one of the cups off his hands.

"I know." He smirked and leaned up against the counter. "I thought I had a couple of minutes left before work, so I'd make a pot. I didn't think you'd wake up so early."

"You know me." Jean took a sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter next to him. "My sleeping patterns can be so unpredictable."

Alexander let out a small laugh. "Yeah, like everything else with you." He joked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "So what is the plan for Olivier, today?"

Jean smiled wider at his the sound of his pseudonym and shrugged. "I'm meeting my friend Hershel for coffee."

The other man gave a perplexed look but still kept it comical and joking. "When am I going to meet him?" He asked and set his cup down. "I hear all these stories about you and your friends but I haven't met any of them yet. So, when will I meet them?"

Sipping his coffee, Descole shrugged. "Good question." He set his cup down and kissed the man's lips after a snicker. "I've got to go, though. I'm going to be late." Looking at the clock, he realized at the rate he was going, all his plans were going to overlap. How stressful.

Alexander nodded. "I need to get to work anyway." He kissed him again. "Meet you back here for dinner?"

Jean shrugged. "I don't know, it's a busy day. How about you go ahead and eat without me and I'll meet you back for bed."

The other brunette nodded and walked him out the door, the both of them leaving to fulfill the plans of the day.

..

Jean walked up to the coffee table outside the café where he saw his friend, clad in gentlemanly clothes and a top hat. The usual. "Sorry I'm late-ish." He apologized, holding a red apple in hand and sitting across the table from his friend.

Hershel smiled and shook his head. "Francis, if there is one thing I've learned about you all these years, it's to never expect anything in particular from you."

Descole nodded and rested his head in his arms. "That's a wise decision." He took a smile bite of the apple he grasped and looked up at his friend. "How's life?" He asked nonchalantly, watching him eat a piece of toast and sip a glass of tea.

"Fine." He answered and looked at his disheveled friend. "I think I should be asking you. You look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks, and I mean that in the best possible way."

Jean smiled. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that." He took another bite, chewed and swallowed before going on. "Because it's true."

Professor Layton was about to ask why, when he realized his childhood friend was eating nothing but an apple, when there was a wide choice of foods on the menu. "Aren't you going to order anything?"

Jean shook his head. "I'm good with my apple."

"You are always eating apples." Hershel raised an eyebrow quizzically. Francis was a puzzle for him to solve all on his own.

"I like apples. What's wrong with apples?" He let out a laugh and his blue eyes wandered downwards. That was the same answer he always gave when he asked about his food choice. What's wrong with apples?

"_You finished your chores?" Francis could remember the sound of his stepfather asking venomously. He saw him sitting on the couch drinking tea, and staring at him judgmentally._

"_Yes, sir." He answered and stood innocently, waiting for the call that led him to freedom. The words that allowed him to eat._

_Instead, his stepfather narrowed his eyes. "Are you hungry?" In his voice remained the poison, but the boy overlooked it either way._

"_Ever so much." Francis answered and placed his hands behind his back._

_The man nodded and stood up, studying his stepson with his eyes. "You have a recital this month." He pointed out and crossed his arms. "In front of a huge audience. Aren't you afraid you're going to slip up?"_

_Francis breathed inward puzzled. He did not want to talk about ballet, he was six years old. He was a hungry growing boy and he wanted to know if it was okay to indulge in what the fridge had to offer. At this point, he began to hate his new father even more. Before him, his mom would leave to work and he could eat whatever and whenever he wanted. He didn't need permission. He disliked this new rule. "I'm very confident in myself." He mumbled. He had a heard his dance instructor use that language once, so he decided to mimic. Maybe, if he sounded more intelligent, he could have dinner._

_His stepfather raised an eyebrow. "You may have confidence stored up, but your skills are lacking greatly." He lowered himself to the young boy's level. "Do you want to be a good dancer?"_

"_Only the best, sir." Which was true. At this point in his life, his dream was to be a professional ballet dancer, like his instructor. His idol._

_His father nodded. "Well then, I guess I'm going to see to it that you achieve this dream. You are going to need to practice more." He told him and began walking back to his seat._

_Francis stood dumbfounded, still waiting for the word of food._

"_Go on, practice."_

_Francis looked downwards uneasily. "Um, I'm hungry, sir."_

_His father looked up confused and stood up in front of him. "You're hungry now? Are you?"_

_The blue eyed boy nodded._

_His father snickered and nodded back. He crossed his arms and sighed, while thinking. He looked up and then back down, and shook his head at the boy. "Well, that's too bad. You're going to have to be perfect if you want to keep this skill." Francis was obviously confused but said nothing. "From now on, you cannot eat any type of food without my permission. You can stay here and practice for another couple of hours and then have an apple when your mother gets home."_

_Francis stood baffled for a moment before taking in the command. When it finally hit him, his eyes began to well up. "B-but, sir, I really wanted to eat dinner."_

_Before a tear even shed, the back of his stepfather's hand forcefully collided with the side of his face and caught him off guard. The boy fell to the floor and held his cheek in pain as a tear fell to his chin._

"_That wasn't very graceful was it?" His father mumbled and let out a snicker. "You do not get to eat until you learn the true meaning of grace. You will do as I say." He lifted the boy up to his feet by his collar and sat back in his chair. "Now, dance, or I'll have to make you do it forcefully. And if you tell your mother anything about what happened here, she'll be so upset with you, she might disown you like your father. So keep your mouth shut and dance."_

"Cisi?" Hershel broke his friends daydreaming but snapping his fingers in front of his face. "What's wrong?"

Jean looked up confused and shook his head. "Nothing." He took another bite of his apple hastily and forced a smile through the terrible memory.

The man across the table raised an eyebrow at the statement. "You're crying." He mumbled and handed him a tissue.

The blue eyed man looked confused for a second but then touched his cheek with a dainty hand. There, indeed, was a wet streak from a tear. He took the napkin and smiled. "Hmm, odd." He stated and looked downward.

Hershel placed the tea cup that he was previously holding, down on the table top to look at his friend seriously. "Cisi, is this about your stepfather?"

Jean opened his mouth and closed it at the question. How could he answer that? Of course it was, but he wasn't about to tell Hershel about it. Hershel, who was his enemy and he didn't even know it. He clenched his teeth and looked downward at his hands. "I've got to go." He mumbled and stood up.

"Francis, no you don't. It's been years, we can talk about this—"

"I've got to meet Bradley for lunch."

"Who's Bradley? I thought you were dating an Alexander."

"He's the other one. I've got to go."

"Did you ever consider having an actual stable relationship with just one person?"

"I might have. I've got to go." He answered stoic and gracefully made his way around the other tables and chairs to the streets, all while looking downwards to hide his tears.

..

"Am I late?" Jean walked up to a table where a strong and handsome man sat with a half-smile strewn on his face sat. He clenched his teeth puzzled.

Bradley shook his head and stood up next to him. "I'm early, you're on time." He then pulled the chair out for Jean to sit in, which he did thankfully. "How are you, Claude?"

Descole bit his bottom and breathed outwards. "Stressed because I thought I was late." I was too busy crying in my car, trying to repress memories of my past, he thought but forced a smile anyway. "But I'm feeling better. How are you?"

The blonde man shrugged and rested his head in his hand. "I'm tired. Last night I stayed at the studio until twelve last night, teaching the rookies how to Effacé Devant correctly and then this morning, I woke up at five to play football with my mates. Quite the last twenty-four hours."

"Sounds like it." Jean, holding another apple looked the man in the eyes and waited for a response from him, when he didn't get one, he decided he would go on. He knew this man almost like the back of his hand, sleeping with someone for a year would do that to you. "I never could understand you. It goes from leaping and Plié-ing to kicking a little ball around and forcing tackling people. You're a character."

Bradley shrugged and shook his head. "I could say the same for you."

Jean shrugged back. "I shan't deny that."

"Oh, here." The blonde man's train of thought went off its original path and he placed a hand on a box next to him. "I got you an apple pie." He pressed the box to his side of the table. "Just for you."

Descole smiled wider looking incredulous. "You got me a pie?"

"Well I couldn't bake you one." Bradley laughed and sipped a cup of coffee. "You and I both know my kitchen skills are horrendous."

Jean laughed and rested his head in hands. "Well, thank you all the same."

"I knew how much you liked apples, I thought you'd enjoy it."'

"I shall." He lied and sighed outwards. He couldn't tell him the truth about his own eating habits, for he didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he knew he wasn't going to eat it. "Hmm, I'm tired. Let's get your food and get out of here."

Bradley laughed and did as commanded. He ordered his food for take away and Descole drove them both back to Bradley's house.

Eager as anytime as he was with the blonde, he grabbed his shirt and pulled him into his bedroom, kissing his lips passionately. He closed the bedroom door behind them and pressed their bodies close, keeping them locked at the mouth. Bradley didn't reject anything he was given and brought both of them into the bed.

After a heated session, Jean leaned against the man, kissing his chest lightly. By now, he had forgotten any memory of his stepfather and enjoyed his time with his work partner.

"So how's work?" Bradley finally asked after a couple of minutes of lying and panting on each other.

The brunette sighed lightly. "It's very…numerical."

Bradley laughed. "Science _is_ numerical, Claude." He stated and kissed the man's forehead in response. "How come you don't dance anymore?" He let out unexpectedly.

Dance was the way that Jean and Bradley had met, and he had met him as Claude. They had worked in the same world renowned production of the ballet Cinderella with a prestigious London troupe of dancers. Which, ironically was the last ballet Jean had performed and the first that Bradley saw him dance in. Jean said nothing.

"You're really talented. Everyone's said it, you know. You could be famous." Bradley looked at him in the eyes and shook his head. "Why don't you milk your effortless talent?"

Jean bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "I've been too focused on my studies." He said and breathed outwards again, not sure if that statement was true or not.

Bradley nodded. "Well, next month is the auditions for Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty." He watched Jean roll his eyes before continuing on. "C'mon, Claude. I'm trying out."

The brunette kissed his lips and smiled at him. "I'm not quite the ballerina, as you." He joked and felt a light smack on his arm, to which he responded with a laugh. "Honestly, though, I don't think dance is my hitch."

Suddenly Bradley sat up looking disgusted. "What are you talking about?" He watched his bedmate sink farther into the bed, comfortably. "You are the best dancer I've ever known. And I've been dancing since I was three. I've known a lot of dancers."

"Meh,"

"Seriously, Claude. Try out with me. It'll be really easy and both of us know all the moves by heart. And if you make it, you don't _have_ to agree to be in it, but I think it would be worth at least trying out."

Jean sighed and placed his arms under his head. "Fine." He finally gave in and shook his head. "Fine, I'll audition."

Bradley kissed him and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. "And when Broadway asks for you, you'll accept right?"

"No promises." He laughed and lifted his head up to kiss the man. "But I will direct them towards a talented football player I know, who also happens to be dancer."

Bradley snickered and passionately kissed him. After a few embracing moments, both of them finally drifted off to sleep.

_One, two, three, four and five, six, seven, eight. Francis counted in his head on stage. He was performing a high end and expensive production of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker, and knew there were going to be thousands of people, all around from London and Paris and even Berlin. All around Europe. He knew he couldn't screw up. His mother and stepfather were in the front seat, as always._

_Sweating from the exertion, he knew it was almost over. This was his last dance of the ballet and he couldn't screw it up. He couldn't be the little nine year old who screwed up in London's version of the world renowned production._

_The lights glared in his eyes as he looked one last time for his mother. And there she was. Sitting there with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes, as always. She was always proud of her little baby. And he was doing so well. Nothing could go wrong._

_Then he saw the scowl on his stepfather's face. That scowl that meant he was in for it. Had he done something wrong? Did he already trip up and not know it? The pain in his feet began to throb as he realized he was in trouble. But what did he do? What did he do wrong?_

_He felt a cramp in his foot arise as he was to dance towards the lead girl. On his way tip toeing to her, a pain that shot all the way up his left foot and his ankle, debilitated him for a moment and he tripped to the floor. Luckily, the little girl lead was intelligent enough to play along and help him up but in character._

_Oh god, he had messed up. Thinking about how he could have messed up, he messed up. The pain was extraordinary and he just wanted the production to end._

_And just like that, it did. He was backstage crying and his mother was holding him lovingly._

"_Oh baby, you were so good, there's no reason to be sad." She said comfortingly and everyone eagerly and excitedly yelled as their last production was over._

"_But I fell."_

"_You fell? Oh at the end? I thought that was part of the ballet?"_

"_No! And now I look ridiculous in front of all of Europe!" He cried more and his mother just held him in her arms._

_And like that, it was the next morning. He had walked out to the living room, looking for his mother, but it had appeared she had already gone to work, for there was his stepfather._

"_You call that grace?" He asked venomously and shook his head. "You disgust me." He walked over to Francis and smacked him in the cheek with the back of his hand. "You're never going to make it. Not ever with tripping feet like that. You need to be more weightless, like I told you. Fucking brat, sneaking biscuits all the time."_

"_I'm sorry, daddy." He mustered through tears and the pain. That was all he could do anyway. No matter how much he apologized it would result in the same._

_And just like he predicted, he got punched in the stomach. His breath stopped as he felt the fist collide with his ribs. The pain was excruciating as he fell to the floor. Even more tears arose in his eyes. What could he do beside cry?_

"_From now on you get more chores." His stepfather kicked him in the back forcibly. "You'll do as I say and next time, you won't embarrass me like that." He continued kicking the boy in a painful rhythmic fashion until he felt like he had had his punishment. This would be a while._

"_Yes, daddy!" This was the only thing Francis could muster in the pain of blows to his torso. He just wished it would stop._

Again, waking up in a panic, Jean Descole sat up, and looked behind him. There was Bradley sleeping soundly, not noticing a thing. He looked at the clock and it was only an hour after he had fallen asleep. He needed to get out of there.

He waited for his breathing to normalize before waking up Bradley with a kiss. "I've got to get home." He stated and smiled lightly. "I have work that needs to be done."

Groggily Bradley sighed and nodded. "I'll call you."

"No need, I'll do it first." Jean smiled and got dressed. He kissed him again before leaving the house hastily and jumping into his car.

He turned the vehicle on and drove off the property, blocks away from the house and onto the freeway, before he started sobbing again. These nightmares were going to be the death of him. They wouldn't go away. They wouldn't even lessen. Usually if he had a nightmare, it would be one not and never again for a good half a year. Now it's every other day at least.

His blue eyes kept fixated on the road when he turned on the radio to listen to music. Something to distract his mind. He needed to think of music. He loved music. He didn't love the horrible memories of his stepfather or of his childhood at all. He just needed the music.

But even then, the tears kept flowing. He drove for hours, from one end of the freeway to the next, back and forth, before finding himself still crying and in a familiar London neighborhood.

Hershel's apartment.


	2. More Breaking Down

Jean knocked on his friends' apartment door and stood. For the most part he wiped all of his tears off, but he knew his eyes were probably still red and some drying water would be plastered on his cheek bones. Oh well.

The door opened and revealed and confused looking, probably teenaged boy. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth staring at him. Jean felt as if the boy was going to say something to him, but then he turned away and stared towards the inside of the house.

"Professor, Descole is here to see you." He boy called and Jean widened his eyes.

_Descole? They know who I am?_ He bit his lower lip wondering what would happen next and how long they'd known. How long he'd looked like a jackass.

"What?" Professor Layton asked standing up from the couch and walking over to the door. When he saw Jean's hurt face and smiled and sympathetically and then looked at the boy in a scolding manner. "Luke, my boy, this is my childhood friend Cisi."

Luke stared at the brunette incredulously and then snickered. "Cisi?"

"Yes, Cisi, now don't laugh, he's hurt. Can you do us a favor, my boy, and make us some tea?"

Luke, still looking suspicious at the depressed and panicked man, agreed and then walked out to get them tea.

"Come inside." Hershel placed his arm around his friend and walked him to the couch. He sat him down and when he saw more tears begin to fall down his cheeks, he handed him a tissue and cocked his head to the side, lightly. "There, there, now tell me. What happened?"

Jean shook his head and bit his bottom lip. Then he wiped his tears once more and went on. "These...these flashbacks." He mumbled and sighed outwards. "They keep coming back."

"What flashbacks? About your stepfather?" Hershel handed him more of the tissues.

The brunette bit his bottom lip and shook his head again but more vigorously. As if to try and shield himself from answering more questions. He wanted so bad to tell him everything but it scared him too much to admit it. It's not every child that gets molested by his stepfather or beat and starved constantly. How could he explain that to someone? Even someone like Hershel, who had guessed all these years that his stepfather was behind the abuse, but not known to the full extent what had happened. He couldn't let him know.

Hershel heard him let out a small sobbing noise, as if he was holding back his grief, and he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Francis. We've been friends forever." He paused and waited for a reply. When none came, he continued. "You can tell me anything."

Jean shook his head wiping his tears away with a tissue. The crying had to stop. He didn't need it anymore. He wasn't sad anymore. It didn't matter. As soon as he gathered his emotions and stopped crying, he knew that he could explain. "You know, I've always had these flashbacks." He started. "These flashbacks that come, usually only while I'm dreaming, and it'll only be one night every half a year. Then I won't think about it anymore. But now," His voice dropped to a whisper as he heard Luke walk through the door with a tray of tea cups. "They won't fucking go away."

"No need to swear." Hershel muttered trying to shield the young boy's ears. "What are they?"

Jean shook his head. "Nothing." He watched Luke take a tea cup and walk back into the kitchen, out of ear shot. "They're nothing, it's not worth it. Never mind, let's not talk about it."

Hershel looked worried. "Cisi, if they're bothering you, it's worth talking about. I won't tell anyone."

"Heeerrrrsheeel!" They heard the singsong voice walking down from the stairs. Looking up, they saw a familiar ginger man waltzing down with a smile on his face.

"Lando's here?" Descole asked irritated.

"Against everyone's will." He answered.

Lando laughed and nodded at the sight of the depressed brunette. "Oh abused boy is here? What's up? How's your apples?" He joked and stood in front of both of them.

"Lando this isn't the time." Hershel mumbled.

"Heh, it's always the time. What's up? Still seventy-eight pounds, I see." He let out a snicker.

"Stop making fun of him."

"What? That's what our friendship is based on. Making fun of Cisi." He laughed and looked back at him. "What's wrong? Did your boyfriend break up with you? Oh wait, which one?" He laughed again.

"I do not have the patience for this." Jean mumbled and licked his lips, looking at the floor agitated.

Lando laughed and then sat next to him. "No, I'm kidding. Seriously though, what happened?" His mood shifted to a slightly more sympathetic one as he wanted to know what was happening.

But Jean Descole wasn't about to tell him anything. He didn't trust Lando and he knew he would just take every word and mangle it into something more horrible and mean. "Nothing." He answered and licked his lips. "I should be going."

"Cisi." Hershel placed a hand on his knee to stall him from standing. "Listen, I think you should see someone about these nightmares." He sighed outward, hoping Lando would say nothing. He didn't pause just in case he got a word in. "They're not healthy and obviously, they're torturing you. You're not getting sleep, or eating and not to mention you're relying on sex to make everything better by having multiple partners. It's not healthy."

"Nightmares?" Lando raised an eyebrow and half smiled. "You're crying over a bad dream?" He snickered coldly and watched his childhood friend stand up.

Jean bit his bottom lip and began storming towards the door. He couldn't believe how insensitive Lando was. He was always that way. He had never relied on Lando for emotion support though, but when he gets in the way of his help with Hershel, that's when he can't take it.

"C'mon Ceese, I didn't mean it!" He called as he heard his friend open the door.

Descole turned back and shook his head. "Go to hell, you prick." He slammed the door shut and ran to his car.

He was all alone. He felt like he was twelve again. All alone and being raped and abused by his stepfather. It was happening all over again but with a new cast of people. And slightly different circumstances. He couldn't imagine the idea of going through that again and it pained him to think he was going to have to endure by himself. At least before he had Simon.

Simon. His little half-brother. His stepfather's child. He almost forgot about his younger brother, since he hadn't seen him since he was about fourteen and his baby brother was eight. When his mother divorced that man, he took custody of his best friend, his little brother. Of course at least then, he had someone to talk to after his chores were done and after his abuse. Simon never got hurt as bad as himself, though. He was so thankful for that. Simon would only ever get maybe a slap across the face, or a long and verbally abusive lecture. Nothing like what he went through.

Of course, since he hadn't seen him in so long, he began to worry that maybe after all these years his poor baby brother did get the punishment he got. Since his stepfathers punching bag was back in England and he was in France, who knows if he began to take his anger out on his own son the way he did to himself.

He shut the car door and started the car. When he began driving away his eyes welled up again. Where was Simon? How has his little brother not even thought to go find him? Sure he and his mother had tried to track down them, but he had gone into hiding so severely they never got farther then France. And who knows if they moved by now? Was Simon okay? Did he get out of that house, considering he'd be far above age? Did he get sexually abused too? Did Jerome kill him?

He shook his head at his own thoughts and turned the radio on. He couldn't think of that. He needed to stop. He liked the idea that his little brother had got away, married some French girl and decided to move to Ireland or Scotland. That was his idea fantasy for his baby brother.

His mind went blank finally as he began to drive on autopilot and zone into the music. He drove to his house and parked quickly. He wiped away his tears and regained his cool appearance. Alexander would be waiting for him.

He walked up to the house and opened the door. After closing it, he called, "I'm back," so no one outside would hear him. His sexual identity would remain a secret to the outside world.

"I was wondering when you'd get home." Alexander said sitting in the Family Room with a cup of black tea. "I made some tea, and dinner's in the fridge."

"I ate already, I'll eat it tomorrow." He sat down next to the brown haired man and kissed his lips. "I missed you." He mumbled and began fiddling with the bottom of his hair.

Alexander giggled and set his tea down. "Olivier," he muttered and placed his hands Descole's waist. "I missed you too." He moved his head towards him and kissed him again.

Jean kept their lips locked in an even more passionate kiss. Anything to make him forget his troubles. That's why he loved sex, it was such a good escape. He didn't have to think about anything else but pleasure and he needed that.

Of course, that was short lived when Alexander pulled away. "Wait," he started and placed a hand on his cheek. "Can't we talk?"

Jean sat erect but moved himself still close to his partner. He wouldn't know what he would say, but he'd play along. It would only be moments before he could get out of reality again. "Of course, you can talk to me about anything." Well almost, he thought to himself.

"Well that's just it." Alexander mumbled and shook his head. "We've been doing this for three months." He started and sighed taking Descole's hand. "I've been practically halfway moved in since the first month. I have keys to your place. I mean…" His voice trailed off as he realized he wasn't sure what to say.

Descole felt his breathing get heavy. He had no idea where he was going with this. It could be one way or the other. Let's get married or let's break up. Either way, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle either of the stresses of the possible situations. "You mean what?" He asked, the sympathy in his voice fading.

Alexander's hazel eyes moved downwards as he let go of his partner's hand. He shook his head and continued. "Where are we going?" He mumbled. "I mean, romantically, what are we?"

Jean licked his lips and looked downward. Well considering you think my name is Olivier and I've got another boyfriend on the other side of town, that's a good question, his mind raced. What could he say? Why couldn't he just keep him company and have sex with him? Fuck buddies. "I don't know." He answered truthfully looking at his hands.

Alexander nodded and looked away. "You don't seem to be interested in me at all…" he let out still looking away.

Oh shit. How could he fix this one? He grabbed the brunette's hand and held it lovingly, getting his visual attention. "How could you say that?" He asked and kissed his hand lightly. "I wouldn't let you be living here if I wasn't interested in you. I've had bad relationships, that's just sex and nothing else. I wouldn't let them live with me, or sit on my couch with me. Or make dinner with me." He noticed a small smile on Alexander's face and he kissed his lips. "Our relationship is still young. We still have so much to learn about each other."

Alexander smiled and nodded. "I guess that's one way to look at it." He mumbled and looked down.

Jean lifted his chin and kissed his lips again. He then pulled away with a half-smile. "Now, are you going to let me have sex with my interesting and sweet boyfriend whom I haven't seen in forever?" Alexander said nothing and Jean decided to kiss him more.

While locked at the lips, Descole began leaning towards the man's frame, almost lying on him and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. At least he didn't say he loved him, he thought as he undid the last button. He wouldn't know what to say if he had said that. It was all too much stress. He placed a hand on the man's chest and moved his lips to his neck.

Alexander giggled and placed his hands in his partner's hair but moved him away. He stood both of them up and walked them to the bedroom, as not to soil the couch. Though Jean seemed not to care, for they did their business and nearly fell asleep right after, still entangled in each other.

"Wake up, Olivier." Descole woke to a kiss on his lips. He smiled and placed his arms around the clothed and dressed man's shoulders. "I've got to go to work, I wanted to say goodbye first."

Descole smiled and kissed him again. "Goodbye." He greeted and watched him walk out. And like that, he was alone.

He remained in the bed staring at the ceiling and he couldn't help but keep thinking. All of his anxiety was brought on by his racing thoughts, but he couldn't push it out of his mind. He kept thinking of his baby brother. He hadn't brought up Simon in forever. Mostly because it was a sore subject, for his whole family, even his recent stepfather who never knew the boy was upset that he wasn't with them and he was with that evil man.

Simon. He needed to get in contact with him. Or if he was dead, he needed to know what happened and where he was. He just needed to know what happened to his baby brother that looked up to him so.

He stood up and quickly bathed and changed his clothes, but purposefully made no internal plans to do anything. He couldn't fathom the idea.

He walked out to the family room and stood in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He stared at the phone, wondering who to call. Well, less the wondering, he wondered if he should, in fact, call who he wanted to. He couldn't understand why he shouldn't, he needed to know the truth, but would it cause too many problems? Well, even if it did, it's only a phone call. What harm could it do?

He sipped his coffee and picked up the phone. He dialed the familiar number and pressed the receiver to his face, waiting for a response.

Finally a man's voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Charles." Jean responded to his stepfather. This was the man that his mother married a couple of years after his horrible stepfather got kicked to the curb. Despite the man's blatant attempts to get on his good side for his whole mother's courtship and marriage, Descole couldn't help but like the guy. He was actually a good man, and he was okay with him.

"Oh, Francis." His voice seemed to perk up. "I haven't spoken to you in, well what seems like a lifetime. How are you, son?"

"I'm okay." He said truthfully. He felt okay talking to someone familiar. "How are you guys?"

"We're good." He answered. There was a pause and then a sigh. "Your mother and I miss you." He let out and then snickered. "I know that's cheesy, but it's true. You've been away from home for too long."

Jean sighed and licked his lips. "Yeah, I miss you guys too." He laughed and shook his head. "So, um,"

"What have you been up to lately?" Charles interrupted.

"Oh," he started and sighed again. "I'm trying out for Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty." Oh damn, he'd have to practice. That was another thing on his plate.

"Oh, that's the ballet thing, right?" Charles didn't know anything about ballet before he married Descole's mother, but he always tried his best to understand. Jean liked that. "Is that one I've seen you in?"

Descole looked down trying to think. "Nope, not yet. I'll tell you if I make it, and I'll give you guys' dates."

"What do you mean if?" Charles let out a laugh. "You're the best little dancer I know."

"Thanks Dad, but I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not cute anymore." Jean laughed.

Charles let out a laugh. "I'm always going to remember that first time I went to your ballet. You were sixteen and I didn't know anything about you or ballet, but I was so proud of you anyway. And worried that your mother was one of those crazy performing mom's that push their children too far. But I'm glad she's not and you just like to dance."

He did like to dance. A long while ago. But he wasn't about to let his family know that. "Well thanks, Dad."

"Of course, son." He laughed.

"Can I talk to mom?"

"Sure, here she is." And just like that the voice switched. "Hi sweetie." Which came from his mother.

Jean smiled at his mom's voice. He loved her so much. She was a selfless, sweet, beautiful woman that always only did everything in her best interest for him. Which is something he had discovered early on, so he always did his best to make sure he was content with everything. Which is why he never said anything about Jerome. "Hi, Mom."

"What ballet are you going to be in? I heard you and Charles talking."

Jean snickered at his mom. He loved how much she cared about him. She even cared for his wellbeing so much by calling the man he considered his father only "Charles" to him. No "your father" or "your dad" only Charles. Even though Descole had gotten used to calling him dad. He loved him. But she cared too much for his feelings which is why he never said anything. "Well, I'm trying out for Sleeping Beauty."

"Oh that's great, baby!" There was a pause before she went on. "You'll make it, I know it. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom." He sighed. "Listen, I have something I need to ask you."

"What's wrong, baby? Are you okay?"

"What? Oh yeah." Her questions confused him far too much. For a second he thought she'd known about the nightmares and his problems, but he realized that would be highly improbable. "No, I just…I want to ask you about Simon."

There was a slight pause. "Sure, baby. What do you need to know?"

"I want to get ahold of him."

"You know I can't help you there?"

"At all?" There was a pause. Jean sighed. "Mom, you must have something. A phone number, something?"

She said nothing. Jean knew she knew something she wasn't telling him. And that hurt more than any of the other pain he'd felt in the in last few days.

"Mom. You need to tell me." He felt a lump in his throat. The kind that would quickly turn to tears. She couldn't have lied to him all these years, could she? She wasn't capable of that. "Mom. Tell me."

"I am not putting you in harm's way by giving you to that man."

You don't even know what he did to me, he thought. She didn't know anything about the sexual abuse. All she knew was he beat him and that was all he was going to let her know. "Mom, I'm an adult. And if you know where my brother is, your son is, I'd really, really like it if you'd tell me." He did his best to keep his calm demeanor. It was slowly fading.

"Fine. Fine, but if you end up at his house and he's beating you with a belt…"

"I'm an adult."

"He lived in France. The last address I got was a couple of years ago, and I don't think Simon has left. He lived in Paris in the apartments by the Guinevere Church."

"Thank you." He tried to think of the best way to end the conversation without either of them sounding too sour, which they both had.

"I don't know if you're going to find either one of them. But if you find Jerome, stay away.

"Mom, I am an adult." And the sour was back.

"Fine, don't take my advice into account."

"It's not…okay whatever. I've got to get a train ticket to Paris. Goodbye."

"Bring Simon back." Jean heard after a short pause. His heart lightly sunk.

"I'll do my best."

"Bye."

"Bye." Jean hung up the phone and shook his head. He had to go to Paris. That was the only option he had. Find his brother, and maybe some of these guilty nightmares will subside. Maybe Simon would be there and be able to repent for everything that had happened to them. Maybe he'd have a reason for what his father had done to the both of them.

Descole walked into his room and took a small brief case. He filled it with only one change of clothes and walked back into the kitchen. He picked up the phone again and called another familiar number.

"Hello?" Hershel's voice sounded on the other side.

"I'm going to Paris. I think my little brother is there."

"What? When?" Hershel's voice was confused but slightly hushed. The boy must've been near.

Jean sighed. "Today. I'm going to the train and getting a ticket."

There was a pause. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you know."

"I'll be packed and ready to go in a half an hour. Expect two more guests."

Descole sighed away from the receiver but responded. "I'll be there to pick you up."

"See you then."

He hung up the phone and got in his car. Why was he bringing them? He couldn't remember his rational reasoning. Actually, he figured there wasn't any rational reasoning. All completely emotional, which, as a scientist, he learned to disregard most emotions. How annoying.

He was a dependent person and he knew it. Sure he didn't like to admit it, but he knew right from the start, he wasn't going to travel to another country by himself even if it was right next door. Oh well, at least he had someone to talk to.


	3. And Even More Break Down

After a few hours, the group, Jean Descole, Hershel Layton, Lando Ascad, and Luke Triton ended up in Paris, France staying at a small motel. Lando and Luke decided to go to some museums and Hershel and Jean made their way to the metro.

Sitting in the subway seats Hershel finally spoke up and asked some questions. "Why are we going to the Guinevere Church?" He said softly, staring down at a crossword puzzle.

"My mother said Jerome was living in the blue apartments."

Hershel looked up at him surprised. "Why are we going to see Jerome?"

"I need to find my baby brother."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Hershel gave an irritated look and shook his head. He knew that pestering him wouldn't get the answers he wanted, so he decided to give up.

..

After a few moments, the blue apartments were standing in front of them. It seemed as if there were about five penthouses stacked on each other and they seemed lavish enough. What a bastard.

"I'm going up there." Jean mumbled and shook his head. "Stake out at the café or something."

Hershel shook his head and licked his lips. "I should go with you."

"No." Descole looked at him with poison. "I'm going alone."

Hershel sighed, finally sounding irritated. "Listen, Francis, you called me to come with you for a reason. Obviously, you wouldn't have if you weren't scared." He got an equally as cross look back from the man he was scolding and he shook his head. "Fine, I won't go with you. But you're on your own. I'm going to meet up with Lando and Luke."

"Fine." Descole hissed back and turned away towards the buildings. Who needed him anyway? He could deal with his own past demons by himself. He didn't need anyone else.

He found himself charging up the stairs, a slight bounce in his step proved what little confidence he had left. He was going to find this man, one apartment at a time. He would have to know where Simon was. At least some little idea and he would find out. Though it being passed three o'clock in the afternoon, Jean also knew he would be drunk, but that couldn't stop him.

He opened the front door to the apartments, leading to mailboxes and the stairs. Level five was "Moreau" which is exactly what he was looking for. Practically running up the stairs, he reached the apartment and stared at the door. It was a blue door, like the outside of the building. A lone door with an empty wine bottle sitting on the outside of it, as if it was going to be picked up by room service.

It was sickening. To think, with one knock, he would have to run into that disgusting man again. After years, not since he was fourteen, he would encounter him again. But this time, he was big, and ready, and stronger. He was an adult now.

He knocked on the door, more forcefully then he had planned, and then he stood, stoic and mentally prepared. Or at least, what he assumed was mentally prepared. As he waited, he realized he should've come in costume; dressed as Jean Descole instead of everyday Cisi. Oh well, too late now.

As he expected, the door opened quickly revealing a startled looking, business-dressed, older man with a plastered smile on his face. "Francis?"

Descole said nothing, but nodded with a raised eyebrow.

He watched the man lean against the door frame, staring in what seemed like shock. All of his mannerisms seemed to be the same as Descole remembered. From his smile to his body language. He always stood laidback, but even so apathetically still, as if he knew he was stronger and better. Even if it wasn't necessarily true. Jean was going to prove that.

"How, uh, what brings you here?" He slurred and laughed awkwardly.

Oh, he knew his wrong doings. He knew what he had done to Descole, and he could see that. It wasn't necessarily guilt, but it was a look of secrecy, like he didn't want to bring it up. Not saying that Jean did either, but the fact that he wanted to hide it so bad, hurt his pride. He wanted him to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but he knew that was even more improbable.

"I'm looking for Simon. Where is he?" He replied like a rock.

Jerome nodded and looked down. "You didn't come to see me?" He asked slightly jokingly but lifted out his arms as if he was looking for a hug.

Descole narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I did everything I could to avoid you first before resorting to showing up here."

The older man sighed lightly. "That's harsh." He mumbled half smiled. "Didn't I teach you to be more respectful?" He grabbed Descole's arm and pulled him closer to him.

At the grasp, Jean hastily pulled away and stood his ground, staring him in the eyes. "Where is Simon?"

Jerome narrowed his eyes. "Probably at the bar, you brat." He slurred and grabbed his arm again. He held him tighter looking him in the eyes. "You have grown since I've seen you."

"What bar?" Descole demanded, pulling away from him.

Jerome gave an agitated look. "Why should I tell you?"

Jean licked his lips and sucked on the bottom one, trying to find the right words to say. He felt so helpless again. Suddenly, all the memories of that man had come back, all in one motion, they just flooded in. Especially, the memories about Simon.

_Francis jumped on his little brother's back, sending them both laughing to the ground. Now at thirteen years old, his baby brother had grown into a kid who needed entertainment and distraction from his father._

_Simon laughed as his older brother lied on top of him, holding him down to the ground. "No, Cici!" He cried, with a high pitched laugh tailed to it. "No! I'm going to win!" He tried all his might to move his brother off of him, but he wasn't budging._

_At this point, Francis knew to take the older brother route and pull himself off of him when the little one needed accomplishment. With one more big shove from Simon, the young teenager let out a surprised "whoa" and rolled off of him, only to let the boy jump on him in triumph._

"_I win!" Simon exclaims, now sitting on his brother's stomach. "Do you know how I won?" He looked at his face with interest, wanting to answer the question._

"_How did you win?" Francis mused, smiling wide. He loved when his little brother was happy._

_Simon jumped on his brother's stomach once more and smiled even wider. "Because I play football, and you play girly ballet! I'm stronger!"_

_Francis laughed and sat up, his brother now on his lap. "Is that so?" He placed his arms around his little brother's torso and ended up picking him up, and throwing him over his shoulder. Simon let out a surprised giggle and tried pounding on his back to let him go. Francis wasn't going to. "Who's stronger now?"_

"_Lemme go!" Simon giggled, fidgeting off his brother's shoulders the best he could. "Okay, okay, you're stronger!"_

_Francis nodded and laughed. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He then set his brother down gently and ruffled his brown hair. _

_Just then, the two looked over at the door that had suddenly swung open. In the door frame was their drunken parental, Francis's stepfather and Simon's father. He stood with his arms crossed and poison in his expression. "Simon, I need to talk to your brother. Go play outside."_

_Simon looked at Francis worried and then back at his father. "I want to play with Francis." He said quietly._

_Jerome, drunk and enraged, grabbed Simon by the arm and pushed him out the door. "Go play." He demanded and watched Simon run out the door. The drunken man slammed it shut and grabbed Francis by the arm, pulling him towards his bedroom._

"Did you hear me, boy?" Jerome yelled at Jean, pulling him into his apartment flat.

"Let me go!" Descole yelled and tried to pull away, but this time was unsuccessful. It was strange how he could just transform into a child again, just like that. All his strength had disappeared as he tried to get away from the only man he ever really detested with such amount. He hated him.

Jerome laughed and pulled the smaller man into him. "Not a chance." He closed the door behind them and kissed Jean's cheek. "What's wrong? You didn't want to see me?"

Descole tried his best to pull himself away, but it seemed that all his strength had vanished. Everything he prepped in his mind, how he wouldn't even let him lay a finger on him without an attack back, had just gone. He couldn't even remember how.

He was Jean Descole. He had aided in destroying cities, he had attacked so many people in his life. He was logical and witty and he had been so close to winning before. How come he couldn't even fight back to one old, drunken man?

The same older man, kissed his lips this time, just a peck, and sent him into a panic. Jean kicked away as best as he could, even though the man was only holding him by his shoulders, though he found himself unsuccessful.

"Listen." Jerome started and pressed the younger man against the wall behind them. "I don't want to waste my time with you, you little fuck. Your mother divorcing me was the best thing that ever happened to me because I didn't have to deal with you anymore. Why should I help you come around here and raid my city, huh?"

Jean was assaulted by the smell of the alcohol on his breath, and it just made his own anxiety rise. His chest tightened and his hand clenched into fists as he realized he probably wouldn't get out of it. He thought he would be done with this by this time, since he was an adult, but everything suddenly became more real. What could he say? "You wouldn't have to deal with me anymore." He answered, meekly and refusing to look him in the eyes.

Jerome narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so." He laughed and pressed his body close to Descole's.

But before anything had had a chance to occur, the front door opened and revealed and tall handsome young boy with a confused expression as both looked up at him equally as puzzled. "Father? What's…" His voice trailed off as he noticed the smaller man in his father's grasp. "Francis?"

"What are you doing back?" Jerome demanded, loosening his grasp on his stepson, not taking his eyes off.

Simon licked his lips and raised an eyebrow. "I came back to get a painting a friend at the bar wants to buy." He answered cautiously and slowly walked towards a closed door. He opened it and barely took a step in, for he grabbed a painted canvas and closed it in front of him. "What's going on?" He asked again.

Jerome shook his head. "Francis here was just looking for you." He mumbled quietly and began walking towards the kitchen. "Why don't you boys go play elsewhere?" He stated with his back turned to them.

Jean began walking towards Simon, but he grabbed the door first. He wanted to talk to him so badly, and hug him, and ask him how he'd been, but he needed to get out of that house. He needed to leave and never go back there.

Simon followed out and closed the door. He walked them out of the buildings and into the streets, where he stood in front of his older brother and smiled. "I don't even know what to say."

Descole couldn't help but smile back. He placed his arms around the younger man and held him in an embrace. "It's been so long." He mumbled and pulled away to look at him. He had hardly changed. He still had his shorter brown hair, his lean but tall frame, and not to mention his brightening smile. It was his little brother all grown up. "How are you?"

Simon nodded and looked down. "Good, good. Um, I have a painting to sell, would you like to come with me?" He lifted the canvas, showing a scaled down picture of the Notre Dame in a million bright colors seemingly during a sunrise. It was amazing how someone could capture all those colors in one grey-beige building, had his brother done that by himself?

"That's beautiful." Jean nodded, following him down the street.

The younger man giggled. "Thanks. I spent a while on it. A gent in the bar wants almost a thousand for it." He looked quite interested.

The older brunette opened his mouth in surprise. That much money for a canvas? Sure it was a good size, quite large, but that seemed like too much money. And since when was his brother an artist? He must have missed that time in his life for when he was a young boy, he enjoyed sports and playing football. "That's great."

Simon let them turn a corner. "I know, it's great because it's what's paying my side of the bills nowadays." He smiled and turned to a door on a tall grey building. At the top was a sign with a witty bar name but before either of them could look at it, he opened the door to a large group of men and women and a cheer from a couple of people at the bar area.

"There he is!" The bar tender exclaimed with an English accent and grabbed a bottle of red wine off the shelf. "With a friend!"

Simon led them to the group at the bar area. The members were all quite young looking, and all but one, men. The bartender was an older man with a charming smile on his face. Simon smiled wider. "This is my brother, Francis. We just got in touch again."

The bartender grabbed two wine glasses off the shelf and, in French, spoke "Your brother looks like a right Englishman, with a name like Francis."

Simon watched the older man smile as he poured two glasses. He nodded and spoke back "Yes, he is, but he speaks French too. " Back in English he said. "We had unwillingly severed contact since I was about eight years old."

The woman sitting at the bar gasped. "Oh, you poor dears. What separated you?"

"Our parents divorced." Simon nodded and took a glass of red wine. "Thanks, Lewis." He handed a glass to Jean who took it humbly, muttering a "thanks" before sipping it. "Anyway, yeah, we share the same mother, but he got custody of him and I ended up with my father."

"Well any brother of Simon's is a brother of mine." Lewis, the bartender smirked and stuck his hand out to Jean. "I'm Lewis Smith. It's nice to meet ya."

Descole smiled courteously and shook his hand. "Francis Smith. Very nice to meet you as well."

"Smith is a good name." Lewis nodded and spotted the canvas in Simon's hands. "Okay, give it here, let's see what we have." The younger man handed it to him, and tenderly, Lewis took it, sure not to scratch it. "Isn't this beautiful?" He asked and the group of alcoholics agreed.

"The colors are magnificent." One of the men said pointing to the sunrise area.

"You better be paying him a pretty penny for that piece." Another man stated.

Lewis laughed. "Oh, I am." He handed him a check and set the canvas up on the mantel piece behind him. "Doesn't that look great?"

"When are you going to make me one?" The woman asked staring longingly at the painting.

Simon laughed. "You're next, Lorena. I promise."

Jean stared at the room before he got lost in the dialogue again. It seemed that everyone was content and happy with themselves in this bar. It was dark, but clean looking. A lot of artwork was displayed on the walls, and staring at it long enough, he noticed some of them looked to be in the same style that Simon's was.

Apparently, his little brother was making money off making art. And not only making money, but he seemed happy doing it. He looked over at him, smiling and joking with the group of people and sipping his red wine casually. He seemed to enjoy his life so much. How could he take him away from that?

"How are you enjoying that wine, my boy?" The bartender asked with a smile towards him.

Descole took another sip and nodded. "It's brilliant, thanks." He said quietly and sat halfway down on a barstool.

Lewis laughed a hardy but pleasant laugh and patted him on the back. "That's what I like to hear. I bottled it myself." He let go of his back and went on. "He looks like you." He commented referring to Simon. "What brings you here?"

The brunette took another sip, of the surprisingly delectable house bottled wine, and sighed. He noticed Simon was too busy talking to the group to hear either of them. "I wanted to make sure he was okay. I was supposed to bring him home." He answered and licked his lips. "He seems right happy."

Lewis nodded. "He's had a hard time." He shrugged and shook his head. "But in a couple more paychecks, I'm going to give him the upstairs apartment for a house and his own art studio so he doesn't have to keep fetching off his old man." There was a pause before he went on. "I think he is happy though. I'd still see if he wants to go back to England."

Jean shook his head. "No, he's far too happy here. England is, well, depressing. Gloomy and cold. Not enough for him to paint. I can't take all this inspiration away from him."

It was true. Descole noticed how happy his baby brother had seemed. Sipping wine and laughing with a group of people, soon enough, he began speaking French and his group even got larger. He was so personable and so excited, you could've guessed he had it all, rather than living in a shack of a bar and working as a starving artist.

Everyone seemed to like him as well. He looked so happy, he couldn't get over it. How he, himself, had longed for a happiness like that, but it seemed less and less tangible. And he wasn't even living with Jerome who used to make his life miserable.

It seemed he stayed there for hours. Hearing stories that his little brother told and every now and then getting sucked into telling his own stories. Everyone seemed interested and very nice as they listened and laughed and he realized why his baby brother loved it. Everyone was so friendly, how could you not?

..

After a few more hours, the two men stepped outside to depart. "I'm sorry I should be leaving so soon." Jean apologized, actually worried he'd get in the way of his younger brother's fun.

Simon smiled wider and hugged him again. "No, you're free to stop by anytime." He looked him in the eyes and sighed outward. He handed him, what looked like a business card, with a phone number and an artistic design on the side. "Call me whenever, alright?"

Jean nodded. "Of course."

"We need to catch up more." He stated and crossed his arms. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Descole sighed at the awkward departure. Neither of them knew what to say, so instead, he went on. "You know, I was sent to bring you back home. But you seem like you've got a home right where you are."

Simon smiled wider. "I love it here." He nodded and shrugged. "Thanks for not forcing me."

"I wouldn't dare. You seem so happy."

Simon looked down. "It's not the ideal life," he started and sighed. "But it is my life, and I do love it. I'll come visit mom soon."

"And Charles." Jean mumbled.

"Who?"

"It took mom a while, but after her and Jerome divorced, she found someone else. She's been with him ever since. He's dying to meet you."

Simon laughed. "I'm glad." He mumbled and hugged his brother again. In French, he spoke "I love you, big brother."

In French back, Jean said "I love you too, little brother." And with that, they parted.

..

Back in the motel, Jean seemed to have a slight slouch in his walk, as he noticed Hershel, Lando and Luke all huddled on Hershel's bed watching the television. As glad as he was to finally find his brother he felt less the satisfied. He wasn't honestly sure why, he found his baby brother, and he found that he was happy. Why wasn't he happy himself?

He sat down on his designated bed and ignored the television. He looked downward, seemingly spacing out, but not necessarily thinking. Nothing was going to his mind. He just felt depressed. He couldn't put his finger on why, or even what his emotions were, but he felt inferior to his problems.

"Did you find your brother?" Hershel asked as Lando and Luke laughed at the television.

Jean looked at him, breaking from his trance as he realized he was being spoken too. He nodded. "Yeah, but he likes it here."

"Did you talk to daddy dearest?" Lando asked, obviously half joking.

Descole gave a sarcastic look. "Yes." He answered and shook his head. He wasn't going to say what he did though, that would just give Lando even more fodder for his jokes. "He seemed well."

"Sure, whatever." Lando muttered, still staring away.

Jean rolled his eyes and lied down on his bed, stomach first. His cheek was pressed against the pillow comfortably as he shut his eyes. God, did he need to sleep. He knew that it would just end in a nightmare anyway, but how much he craved one night of sleeping well. "I suppose we should get back to England tomorrow." He suggested, still halfway pressed against the cloth.

"I suppose so." Hershel mumbled and lied down on his bed more. "I am tired."

"Aww, I like France, Professor." Luke told him lying closer next to him. Jean watched them cuddle slightly as Luke went on. "Why do we have to leave so soon?"

"Well, my boy, it seems we already found what we were looking for." Hershel smiled at him and ruffled his hat. "Of course, we can always come back."

Luke smiled wide at the answer and closed his eyes.

Jean closed his eyes as well, hoping to sleep without any consequences.

..

Luckily, as planned, Jean Descole woke up without any worried dreams. Sleeping soundly wasn't something that he had been able to enjoy in the late weeks. Almost a fortnight of nightly bad dreams is enough to drive any man mad. His own rejuvenating awakening made him sit up quickly, to a room full of everyone else sleeping. In the bed next to him laid Lando and the one across the way, Hershel and Luke, sleeping soundly. It was probably early in the morning, so he decided to shower and dress quickly and take a walk down to the café next door.

Walking out being blinded by the morning sun, he realized that it was, in fact, early. He walked to the café and sat down in the front row of seats, facing out to the people walking by. Staring down at the table, he crossed his legs and awaited to be waited on.

Before he knew, a younger man walked up to the table and sat across from him. In fluent French, he began to greet him. "Good morning, I'm Jeremiah, I'll be taking your order. What would you like?" His smile seemed sincere at Jean and his hands were folded in front of him.

Jean smiled back, curious at the man's body language, but didn't question it. He felt overwhelmed to get to know him better, but he knew that would only cause problems. They did, in fact, live a couple of countries away. Well, nothing bad ever happened with one little tryst. "What do you suggest?" He asked back cocking his head to the side lightly.

The young man looked upwards, as if he was thinking and then shrugged. "I usually live with cappuccinos." Jeremiah nodded and waited for a reply.

"Then I'll go with that." He told him and smiled wider. Jeremiah had a humble smile back, and as he noticed he stopped himself from making any other conversation. Jean let the handsome man walk off without any cause for stopping him. He suddenly had no interest in sex, even though he was a good and easy idea, especially because he wasn't feeling particularly good about himself.

What was wrong with him? He even knew this wasn't like himself. It must just be a really off week or something.


	4. Less Memories, More Planning

After a while, the group finally made their way back to England. When they arrived, it was quite late. It was dark enough to be somewhere around a child's bedtime, though, Jean was no child. He said his goodbyes to the group, politely to Hershel and Luke, not so much to Lando, and headed home.

Walking from the station to his house, he turned a ride from Hershel down to clear his head, he dwelled on the fact that he had just seen his little brother. His little brother he hadn't seen in years was alive and well and loving his life. He was an accomplished artist, making good money on painting after painting, and living off his loving friends who kindly allowed it. He was so accomplished and happy for such a simple life.

Why wasn't Jean satisfied? Why couldn't he accept the fact his baby brother was grown up and well? It was something so beyond him. His own emotions were eluding him. He was so mentally drained all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, with his recent bedmate, Alexander and sleep soundly.

Alexander. Oh damn, he didn't tell him he was leaving for France. He had never just left for a night without explaining where he'd be. Oh well, he'd be okay. Jean would just give him a little story about how he fell asleep at Hershel's. He'd fall for it.

A slight pang of anxiety hit as he reached for the handle on door. He turned the knob and walked in, hauling the briefcase behind. He closed the door behind him and began walking down the hall. He heard something stirring in the house; he figured his bedmate was awake. Well, what better time to explain, then now?

When he approached the living room, he noticed a tall blonde man, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed and he was looking at the floor. It took a while for Descole to notice who it was, and when he did, he dropped the suitcase and clenched his fists worriedly.

"Bradley?" He asked, his eyes widened and his full lips parted. He never let Bradley over without his permission, for he wasn't allowed if Alexander was around. He didn't know about Alexander. "What are you doing here?"

When Bradley looked up at him, a look between anger and incredulous was strewn on his handsome face. An eyebrow was raised and he looked towards his bedroom.

As he did, a slim brunette walked out of the room with a briefcase and a hurt and infuriated expression. Alexander stopped in front of Bradley and Descole and kept the case in his hand. There was a sickening silence that took over the room before Alexander broke it. "You're back." He muttered with apathy.

Descole licked his lips and looked at them. "What's going on?" He mumbled unsure of himself.

"Well, you told me you'd call me days ago and you never did." Bradley told him, his arms still crossed.

"And you didn't tell me where you went." Alexander continued. "So after a couple hours of noticing some of your clothes were gone and your case was gone, I went through the messages on the phone, trying to find out who to call. And I came across a message looking for a 'Claude'."

"And he called me looking for an 'Olivier'." Bradley shook his head. "He was frantic, so I decided to come over after we realized we had either been played or I was looking for a facsimile of a man with a pseudonym."

They both said nothing waiting for a response. Descole looked downward, feeling defeated.

"Who are you?" Alexander mumbled.

Jean looked up, switching back and forth on who to look at. "You know who I am." He mumbled with a slight snicker.

"No, we don't." Bradley said sternly, moving his hands to his sides in anger. "What's your real name? Who _are_ you?" He insisted shaking his head.

Jean Descole didn't know what to say. Who was he? He didn't even know. He couldn't tell him his preferable name, but he hated his real name. He felt obliged to tell them, even though he didn't really have too. He was connected to both of these men in a different way and he felt vulnerable and anxious. "M-my name his Francis Smith." He told them truthfully and looked down. "I'm a scientist and a dancer."

"And a lying prick." Alexander began walking towards the hall, his shoulder violently brushed against Jean's, to show his anger.

"Wait—" Jean for a second tried to reach out to him, but the name and already started out the door.

"You'll never see me again!" Alexander called and slammed the door shut.

Descole turned back around and saw Bradley beginning to walk away. As he passed him, the smaller man quickly grabbed his arm with both hands and held him desperately. "Wait!" He pleaded and watched him turn around. When he saw the angry and hurt expression on his face, he felt like breaking down in tears. Bradley had been in his life for about a year, he couldn't deal with the change of him leaving right now. He needed him. "Please don't go."

Bradley pulled away from him but stood sternly, not moving. "Listen, _Francis_," he stated with slight poison in his voice. "I don't know who you are. I thought I knew you better than anyone, and it turns out I didn't even know the first thing about you."

"I was born in France and grew up in England. I've been dancing since I was four years old and professionally dancing since I was about six." He started, trying anything to console him. "My father left my mother when I was a baby, and when I was six my mother married an abusive man, who spared her from any abuse and treated her like a queen, but took it all out on me. I have a half-brother who's seven years younger than me, and I hadn't seen him for about fifteen years, which is where I went yesterday. To France. To find him."

Bradley's anger had subsided into confusion. Neither of them said anything for a couple of seconds, so Jean went on.

"He was well, but I also found that abusive man, who my mother finally divorced when I was fourteen. When I was fifteen or sixteen, my mother married again, but this time a good man who she's still married to, and he's never met my baby brother." What else could he include about his life in this jam-packed craziness? "I've been having horrible nightmares about my first stepfather for the last couple of months, and I haven't been sleeping at all. I…I don't know what else to say."

Bradley looked slightly worried at him but said nothing for a couple seconds. Though, it was quickly broken. "You need to sleep or something." He mumbled and shook his head. "Why did you lie to me?"

Descole breathed outward, slightly relieved that he said anything at all. "I don't know." He said truthfully. "I guess I just don't like who I am."

The blonde shook his head and crossed his arms again. "I can't deal with this right now." He began to walk towards the door.

"No please don't go!" Jean begged and grabbed him again, but this time Bradley pulled his arm back. "Please, I need you!"

"You don't seem to need anything." Bradley muttered angrily and walked out the door, slamming it shut.

For the first time, in a while, Descole felt helpless over love. Love? It wasn't love. He was just used to Bradley, and he needed the familiarity. He couldn't call it love. He didn't think he had ever even told Bradley he loved him. He just needed the bedmate, he was sure.

He walked into his bedroom and lied on his bed, feeling defeated. How could he let himself get found out? He felt so lost, he wanted to cry. He couldn't let himself though. He needed to just sleep and get on with his life. So he'd never see either one of them again? Who cares?

Well, Alexander worked in the same lab as him, and he still promised Bradley he'd try out for the ballet. So unless they both quit what they loved doing, he'd still see them. But who cares about that either? He didn't need them, they were just bed warmers.

Jean stood up out of his bed anxiously. He felt tired but he couldn't even fathom the idea of sleeping. Instead he stood up and walked over to his drawers. He grabbed a pair of sweat pants, a sleeveless tank shirt, and his ace bandages and his flexible ballet shoes. He'd go practice.

He threw his clothes on and began wrapping his feet in bandages. He did this for the muscles in his feet pulled easily. Probably because he never ate the best, and he knew this, but he knew it wouldn't stop him. He wrapped his feet up and laced the shoes and before he knew it, he found himself gracefully stretching in front of his wall to wall mirror.

He watched all of his muscles tense as he reached his right arm towards the ceiling. He must have been tired; it never took so much strength to lift an arm. He decided to ignore it and keep going. He lifted his second arm slowly and then equally as slowly lowered them. Maybe this would make him tired.

After zoning out into music and dancing, he found himself staring at the floor sweating and panting. He must have been dancing for hours. All of his muscles hurt and his head hurt. His eyes were heavy and his chest burned. He knew he needed to rest before he hurt himself. So he headed off to bed.

Laying down in his sweaty dancing clothes, his ballet shoes on his floor, but the bandages wrapped around his feet, he grabbed a pillow and cuddled into it. His half his face pressed into the feathery warmth with his eyes closed. He needed to sleep. He needed to drift off into sleep. But his mind wouldn't let him. Every thought was racing. He couldn't help but think about Alexander, even though he had only had a tryst with him for three months, the way he hurt him dwelled on his mind. He just wanted a steady relationship and Jean and ruined that. Then Bradley. Bradley who he'd known for a year, and who he'd been with for a year, had just walked out on him for the first time. Bradley had never done such a thing. He'd never walked out on Jean, ever.

What was he doing? He was the evil villain, Jean Descole. He wasn't supposed to feel guilty. He wasn't supposed to feel pity for anyone. He was a _villain_.

With that thought fresh in his mind, the view finally changed. He may have been in the standards of a "villain" but he wasn't a psychopath. He had emotions for other people as well, and that was what was holding him back.

He needed to sleep. He was thinking too far into everything to just relax. What was he to do? Usually dance worked just fine into distracting him and exhausting him. Lately, he hadn't relied on dance to help him fall asleep though, he had relied on his bedmates that he had just lost. Everyone is gone. With the people who kept him safe when he slept weren't there, he was alone and he couldn't be alone. Bad things happened when he was alone.

With that, he checked the time, only midnight. He hopped into the shower quickly, then got dressed and raced out the house.

..

Only about an hour later, he found himself lip locked outside in the back alley of his usual bar, with a handsome brunette named Oliver. Though of course, names couldn't be more irrelevant at the time. Jean just wanted to get him into his bed so he wasn't alone.

"We can go to my house." Jean mumbled after he pulled away to let the man kiss his neck. "You can seek asylum there if you want." He let out a small giggle and then moved his face back to his lips.

Before he knew it, the both of them were unraveling from being entangled in his bed sheets. Strangely enough, Jean found himself pulled into the man's grasp more then he usually would. He was lying on his chest, and his head was resting in the crook of his neck. He wouldn't be alone tonight. He couldn't.

When he woke up, he was still in the arms of the man he met last night. What was his name? Oliver. Right, he remembered because it sounded like his old alias. The alias he used for the man who would usually be lying next to him. Of course, he didn't love Alexander, but change was hard. Maybe Oliver would fill that gap.

The brunette woke up next to Descole and smiled at him. "Oh, hey." He greeted at the man on his chest. "How long have you been up?"

Jean shrugged and kissed his chest. "Just a few seconds." He kissed his lips and caught the man off guard, though he didn't seem to mind. Still wrapped in sheets, the villain sat up on the man's torso and stretched gracefully. After he placed his arms down he looked at the man. "I need to take a shower." He raised an eyebrow. "Want to join?"

Oliver's dark eyes moved to the clock and then back up at him, playful and prowl-like. "I have to be a work in two hours, but sure."

And with that single sentence, Descole grabbed his hand, pulling him up out of bed and kissed his lips passionately. His bedroom's bathroom door was already wide open as they slipped inside it quickly. Jean turned the water on and let both of them jump into the shower.

They were both locked at the lips when Descole heard something from what seemed to be the hall, or the living room. Oliver's hearing was obviously not as sharp as the hosts were, but of course, he lived there and knew what to expect and what not to. The noise must have been from his servant, though he knew better than to intrude into his living quarters without a knock. Ramon was the only one of his servants who was allowed in his house at all.

He let that not bother him as he felt the man's lips migrate to his neck. He let the passion of sex distract him once more as the water on the shower pounded against his lean back. He loved the feeling of being needed too much to get distracted. He let the handsome man do whatever he wanted to him.

After a while, the water was turned off and the two were drying and getting clothes on his Jean's room. Jean was combing his wet hair when the man stood up and walked over to him to peck his cheek. "Hmm," a slight happy noise escaped the villain's mouth throat as he let a smile cross his full lips. "Why, thank you."

"You are very welcome." Oliver stated and breathed outwards. "Well, I have to go." He grabbed a pen from his pocket and reached at a pad of white paper on Jean's desk table. He left a number written down and left with a passionate kiss and a smile.

Of course, Jean didn't know if he'd call him. Actually, he figured he wouldn't. He could tell the man wanted more than just sex and he wasn't sure if would be able to handle that at the time. Well that was something to think about on a later date.

He walked out of his room and sat on his couch, noticing a book on his seated next to him. He must have forgotten to put it away. He tended to do that with small items. He picked it up and opened to the last page he was on, and let himself get sucked in. Anything to forget about how depressed he was. He couldn't deny it, he knew he was upset about his brother and about his life in general, but he didn't want to think about it.

As he was sucked into the words, he heard a knock at the door across from the living room. It was one of his servants in the other part of the house. He hadn't been watching over them in a while. He wondered if they were wondering where he was.

"C'min." Jean called and watched the door start to open. He looked down at the book to mark the page and then set it down to see the person at his door. As he suspected, the pondering face of Ramon was in the door frame. "Ah, hello."

Ramon was one of the only people who knew his real identity as well as Jean Descole, and he was the only person allowed in the living quarters of the house. He also was able to talk to Descole without having him blow up at him.

"Good morning, where have you been, Sir?" The shorter man greeted formally and shut the door behind him.

"Morning, Ramon. I've been…in France." Jean sighed at his answer and crossed his legs on the couch. "Sorry, I've been distant."

Ramon shook his head. "No need to be sorry. You have a life." He snickered lightly and placed his hands behind his back. "Well, I heard that tall brunette man, who you had here panicking to Bradley while you were away. He even knocked on my door asking if I'd seen you." He seemed uneasy

That's right, Alexander thought that part of his house was a different apartment and Ramon was the owner. Bradley knew it was his research studio, he had even brought him there before. He never thought Alexander would knock on the door. Ramon had known about the both of his bedmates, and he had met Bradley on several occasions. Though, he also knew that it wasn't a good thing to have both of those men in the same room.

"Well, you don't have to deal with them anymore." Jean mumbled bitterly and sighed. He noticed Ramon's quizzical face. "They both left when they found out about the other. "

"Oh," Ramon mustered and looked down. Not sure what to say, he placed a hand on the back of his head. "I'm sorry."

Descole shrugged. "They were expendable." He let the poison out with that sentence and looked down, narrowing his eyes.

"Even Bradley?"

"Yes, even Bradley, now can we drop it?" He asked cuttingly. Why was he so bent up about that? He wasn't sure, but he wouldn't let it get in the way of his life. He didn't need anyone. He was strong enough to be on his own and the last thing he needed was someone to pity him. Servants were just there for convenience.

After a second, Ramon cocked his head to the side puzzled. "You don't look so good, Master. Do you need something?" He inquired and began walking to the kitchen. "Let me make you some tea."

Descole sighed and shook his head. "I'm fine." He called to him, and watched walk back. "I need to go to the store though. We're out of apples, black tea and, um, peanut butter, I think." He looked down thinking. Few foods he could stomach on an anxious or depressed diet.

"I'll be on my way in a moment, Sir."

"No, I think I should come with you." He snickered. "I need to get out of the house."

Doing just that, the two went to the store and picked up the few items Jean needed. He even broadened his horizons and bought tomatoes. They looked like apples and he felt he hadn't eaten anything else in weeks. What did tomatoes even taste like? He couldn't remember.

Ending up back at his house, he helped Ramon put the few groceries away and watched Ramon begin to make him tea, even though he didn't ask. "I'm alright, you don't have too." He referred to the tea.

Ramon shook his head. "You don't look well. You should have some." He advised and seeped the tea anyways.

The hardy aroma was enough to make Jean agree, since he did love his tea, and it usually did find a way to fix his mental state. His vision kept at the seeping water as Ramon stood waiting next to him. Before long, it wandered to the kitchen phone, were he had placed the card with his little brother's number on it. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.

The idea his brother didn't want to come back home with him, hurt his pride and his heart to several levels. The fact that he was so happy with that horrible man, and without him, hurt him the worst. He wanted to see him again though. He couldn't help but feel they left off at a weird note.

What time was it in France? Did it matter? It was only a couple of hours. Right then, he decided to pick up the phone and call his brother, as he watched Ramon pour the both of them a cup of tea in his peripheral vision.

A few beeps continued before a feeble, almost anxious voice answered, "Hello?"

Was this his little brother? The pitch of the voice was similar but the tone was someone he didn't remember. What was going on? "Simon?"

"Francis?" The same voice recognized the caller, and that was enough for Jean to know it was his little brother. "W-what's going on?"

"What's going on over there? You sound terrified." Jean said hastily, waiting eagerly for the true response. He hoped nothing serious, but if it was, he was ready to hop and train and run to France to save his baby brother.

On the other end, seemed a sobbing noise and then a sniffle. "Nothing," was all he stated.

"Simon, what's going on?" He repeated with a little more vigor, and grabbed the end of the kitchen counter in worry. Ramon looked at him interested.

"N-nothing. It's just…" His voice trailed off seemingly thinking about what to say.

When nothing happened for a couple of moments, Descole spoke up. "Just what, Simon?"

"C-can you come get me?"

And with that, he agreed and quickly hung up. He looked at Ramon and took a sip of his tea. "Will you come with me to France?"


	5. Less Planning, More Executing

After catching another train to France, Jean Descole, found himself costumed yet unmasked, ready to jump out of the train as soon as it stopped and run to the apartment. His servant, Ramon, was right behind him, though once Jean raced to the blue building, Ramon stayed behind, ready to get them to safety as soon as they obtained the boy.

Descole placed his mask on as he raced up to the building. He didn't need anyone to fight this battle for him but himself. No servants and no tricks. He was going to grab his brother and leave.

He got to the door and didn't bother to knock. Once he hastily waltzed into the house, his ground stood, he noticed a nervous shuffle in the corner. When his eyes focused on that side of his room, he saw his little brother, huddled with his suitcase in fetal position on the floor. When looking harder, he noticed a black eye and other bruised places on his face. That was when he got serious, and quickly ran himself over to the younger man, who flinched at the masked man.

Simon actually looked terrified and seemed to shield his face as Descole ran up. "Who are you? Don't hurt me!"

"Simon! It's me!" Jean Descole bent down to him and grabbed his arm. Seemingly, as he said that, Simon knew who it was and stood up shocked and shaking.

"Francis?" He questioned nervously.

Jean nodded. "Yes, c'mon, let's get out of here." Not even bothering to ask questions or let him explain, he grabbed his brother's bag and held his arm gently, trying to ease him towards the door.

"I didn't mean to make him angry." Simon confessed, shakily, holding his arms to his chest.

The masked man nodded and continued walking him towards the door. "I know, he does that." This was all he could say to possibly comfort the boy. He had no idea what Jerome had done to him, but he knew he wouldn't get away with it.

As he was just a few feet away from the front door, it opened to reveal a familiar and obviously inebriated well-dressed man, with a cross look. "I thought I heard you here, you little fuck." He slurred and slammed the door shut as both the brother stood in shock. "I figured I'd be done with you when you left."

This was not in Jean's plan. How could he guess it was him? Especially drunk and not in better judgment, how did he know Francis Smith was Jean Descole? He was just going to take him and leave, and if it so happened that he would get into a confrontation with that man, he would punch him in the face and run. If that's what he was going to do, why couldn't he move?

He was paralyzed in fear, and it seemed that Jerome noticed and smiled wide at that. "Here to save your little brother, huh?" The drunken man asked. "Well, he needs to pay for being a brat, just like you did."

Descole clenched his teeth, at the idea his little brother got hurt he same way he did. "What did you do to him?" He demanded the answer his eyes narrowing.

Jerome lunged towards him violently and grabbed the smaller man's collar before Jean could fight back. Though Descole let go of his little brother, in fear he would be hurt, he still felt he was too near. He tried pushing the younger man away, but he hardly budged. Jerome snickered wickedly. "You want me to do it again to you, so you can remember?" He asked and pulled his body closer.

"Let me go!" He tried to demand, though it came out more feeble and weak then he expected.

"You don't tell me what to do, you little fuck!" The poison in his former stepfather's voice was enough to make him cringe. He pushed Descole up against the wall and pulled his mask and hat off. Soon after the muffler and his shirt tie was on the floor as well. "You know you were the worst thing that ever happened to me." He informed and began undoing the man's shirt, while Simon just started crying, just as paralyzed. "Honestly, when I met you, I knew you were going to be worst part of my life. Having to take care of an ugly, untalented, little shit like you. And I did everything I could to keep you and Simon separated; I didn't want him ending up like you."

The man smiled evilly again and pulled Jean's hair slightly. "What do you think I did? Huh? And what the fuck are you going to do about it?" When the unmasked villain said nothing and could hardly struggle away, the man laughed. "Nothing, that's what I thought. Do I need to remind you where you belong?"

Before he could let his former stepson say anything, he planted an open mouth, violent kiss on Jean's lips, forcing his tongue between his teeth and their bodies pressed close. Descole knew there was nothing he could do. All that happened was he remembered when he was a young teenager, and it happened regularly. He remembered being thrust to the floor, and touched and raped repeatedly, and there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could say to make him stop, or no way to fight back. And again, he felt like a teenager.

As Jerome began ripping his clothes off, Jean felt the tears well up. His body was clueless as to what to do, even though his brain was yelling at his muscles to stop and run away, though he could not physically make it happen. He felt the nails of his step father dig into his torso like they would as a child. He felt the nails sink deeper and deeper, and as bad as he wanted to scream, all he could do was let out a guttural, pained moan into his former stepfather's mouth, since they were still locked at the lips.

He let his hand roam to Descole's backside, grabbing him as his other hand still dug into his torso. He knew that the man wouldn't do anything to stop him.

Simon obviously couldn't take watching it anymore, because soon afterwards, he ran up to mess happening up against the wall and gripped into his father's shirt. "Dad! Stop it! You're hurting him!" He screamed and tried to pull him off.

As Jerome became exceedingly angry, he loosened his grip on Jean and turned around to grab his son, which he did so violently. "I told you, not to bother me when I'm working!" He grabbed his son's collar and pulled his fist back, snapping it on Simon's cheekbone. He repeated the actions several times, bruising and beating the young man.

Watching his little brother get physically abused by the man who used to do the same to him, made something suddenly click in his mind. Without even thinking, he grabbed Jerome's shoulders and tried to pull him back, but that seemed to do nothing. Not only was Jerome older than him, but he was also stronger and taller than him. The match wasn't even at all. "Leave him alone!" Jean yelled, trying to pull him off as well as he could. He almost didn't budge at all.

"Get off of me, you fucking brat!" Jerome demanded and snapped his arm back, sending Descole off his back and a few feet away to the ground.

When Jean realized this strategy wouldn't work, he reached into his boot and grabbed a penknife he brought to this situation in case something like this would happen. Lucky him. He ran back to the older man and grabbed the back of his head by his hair and pressed the cold metal blade of the knife to his neck.

When his drunken ex-stepfather realized what was happening, which didn't take long, he froze and let go of his son. "Francis…what are you doing?" He asked cautiously.

"Don't fucking say a word, you sick fuck." Descole warned and pressed the blade a little closer. "You don't know how bad I've wanted to be here, to slit your throat, so if you want to live, you'll keep your perverted, sick mouth to yourself and leave your son alone."

Simon was cuddled to the floor, blocking his face in fear someone would break free and hit him again, be it his father or his older brother.

"Simon, get your bag." Descole demanded, still holding the man at knife point. As he did, he nodded and sighed worried. "Get out the door, keep it open." He told his brother and as he heard it open, he pressed the blade even closer, feeling his start to cut through the skin. He wanted so bad to impale the nape of his neck with the tip of his blade, but he stopped himself. It wasn't his time yet.

"Listen, I'm going to let you live, but as soon as I take this knife away, I am running out that door and you are never going to see me or your son again. You are going to die here, drunk and alone with only your thoughts and alcohol to keep you company." He pressed his lips up to his ear and let out a snicker. "When you die, the last thing you'll see is what you did to me." He muttered to a whisper. "And then you'll see what you did to me, and I'll have a smile on my face. A smile that says you may have hurt me when I was a young boy, but there is nothing you can do to me that compares to how sad and pathetic and plainly pitiful your life was, because you couldn't even break your ballerina, queer, stepson."

He snickered and pressed the blade harder to the man's neck. He knew he pierced the skin and let some blood flow, but before he could cause any fatality, he pulled his knife back, and raced out the door. Now with his mask and muffler in hand, he slammed the door shut and neither he nor his brother looked back.

..

With no words exchanged, both of them still fast walking at an extremely quick pace, soon enough, they ended up to Ramon, who was told to wait at a certain café. When Ramon saw them walk up, disheveled and no doubt hurt, he stood up, ready to bolt. Jean made a gesture with his eyes that said "let's go" and as soon as he did, he was beckoning them the way to the train.

Still walking to the station, Simon finally spoke up. A feeble "thank you," was all he could muster.

Jean placed a hand on his brother's back and rubbed it sweetly. "Anything for my baby brother." He assured back and smiled gently at him. He'd even go see that horrible man for him. He'd fight off the one person that ruined his life and scared him to death for Simon. He hoped this meant he'd be a family with him again.

..

When returning back home, Simon seemed to be in a much brighter mood, since the apartment incident. He was smiling and his hands were let at his side, rather than stuck at his chest. "You live here?" He asked seemingly amazed at the house. It was appropriate. The building was rather large, and one wouldn't have guessed it was broken up into pieces.

Jean nodded. "Yeah, but really just in this little part." He noticed how homely his place did look compared to Jerome's but it was rather small. "The rest of my place is owned by my workers and my research." He informed and smiled.

He showed his brother the spare room and where he could sleep, in case he was tired. He showed him the bathroom so he could take a shower, and the kitchen where Ramon was continued making tea. In the beginning of his brother's shower, the doorbell rung, and Jean decided the polite and socially acceptable thing to do was answer the door, considering it was most likely one of his friends.

And so it was. On the other side of the door, Hershel and his young apprentice stood. Descole almost yelled at Hershel for bringing the boy, since he had already called him Descole, he didn't want him to know his hideout.

He looked behind him and Ramon had already retreated back to the other quarters of the house, as not to be recognized. Jean looked back at his childhood friend. "Fancy seeing you here." He decided to let him in. What else was he to do? "What brings you to my humble abode?" He said slightly joking and sat them down on the couch. He decided to pour all of them tea, and kept a mug out for his little brother, in case he wanted some.

Hershel took the tea and smiled, watching him sit. "My Cici's-in-trouble senses where going off." He joked and crossed his legs. "No, truthfully, I just wanted to know how you were since our trip."

Jean bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Well, I went back to France." He told them truthfully and nodded. "And the person in my shower is my baby brother." He said straight to the point. "I ran into that terrible man, and now, everything seems to be okay." Was it really?

Hershel looked interested but obviously didn't find the statement as unbelievable as it seemed, for he half smiled. "So how is Simon?"

Jean looked over at Luke who was petting the housecat and talking to it, and responded. "Well, better now. He was all broken up. But he's okay now that he's always from that."

After a couple of minutes, explaining the situation, straying off topic, and sipping tea, Simon walked out with wet hair and clean clothes. "Cici, can I go out?" He asked, almost immediately as he emerged from the bathroom.

Descole raised an eyebrow and nodded. "You sure you're okay to go? I mean, I guess." He bit his bottom lip. This reminded him of the little boy he was separated from, the adventurous little boy. He smiled as he noticed Simon smile wider. "Oh, Simon, remember my friend Hershel?"

Simon looked at his guest and smiled wide. "Wow, _the_ Hershel Layton?" He walked over to him and shook his hand. "Aw, I can remember when you and Cici and that ginger boy used to play detective. You're big news in France, you know that?"

Hershel raised an eyebrow. "I am? Well, I'm honored." He said letting go of his hand with a smile. "It's good to see you again Simon."

Simon smiled sweetly and shrugged. He looked back at his brother and bit his bottom lip. "Brother, can I talk to you a moment?"

Jean watched his brother walk up to him. He forgot how much taller he was, and how much bigger he seemed in general. Well, bigger than he was since he was a little kid. He remembered his small baby brother, not the tall, handsome and strong looking young man.

He walked his little brother into his room and raised an eyebrow.

Simon half smiled. "Hershel Layton? The great Jean Descole is still friends with Hershel Layton?" He asked incredulously.

Jean rolled his eyes. "He doesn't know, so let's not bring it up."

Simon nodded and licked his lips. "Can I borrow some money to buy some canvases? I couldn't grab any if I wanted to take all my paints and my easel."

Jean agreed and handed him some money. The two of them walked out and continued on their day with no problems. He hoped none would happen. For the first time, he felt pretty content.

..

A some days, or possibly weeks later, Jean walked into his house from the servant building. His mask was on, and he was clad in his Jean Descole look. He had been more recently. Even in his house, he had mostly been forgetting Francis Smith. It was his only way of feeling safe and protected. Since he hadn't been eating, or sleeping, he felt especially vulnerable unless he was dressed up.

He couldn't help but think about his ex-stepfather recently. Especially that day. What was he doing? Where was he? He should have killed him. He couldn't help but think he should have killed him. Because he was alive, it seemed to haunt him.

He kept thinking he was going to show up at his house and try and take his baby brother, or hurt him again. The idea that he could just show up scared him. He should have killed him.

Clad as Jean Descole, he was shocked as he walked into his living room and saw his baby brother behind his easel, talking gaily and painting a familiar man. A familiar blonde, strong looking man, who he promised to try out for a ballet with.

"Bradley?" He asked incredulously before the two men realized he was there.

They both looked over and Bradley nearly fell out of his seat, before he realized who was behind that mask. "Francis?" He asked, breathing hard. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Realizing Jean Descole was standing in his living room and not Francis Smith, Jean narrowed his eyes and said nothing. It only took a second for Bradley to realize what was happening. Jean stood paralyzed not sure what to say.

"Oh my god," Bradley covered his mouth and shook his head. "You're joking." He said with an incredulous laugh. "Oh my god, that makes so much sense. You're Jean Descole."

Jean licked his lips and shook his head. "What are you doing here?" He said and clenched his fists. He wasn't supposed to see him again. He wasn't supposed to be at his house and he was certainly not supposed to see him again.

"I met him at the coffee shop and he told me he knew you, and I wanted to paint him." Simon told him and raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

Worried about upsetting his brother, his shook his head and began making tea in the kitchen. In a second later, Bradley followed him and shook his head back. "I can't believe you're a villain. You're always told me you were a scientist, but I had no idea you were a villain." He looked as if he was in shock. "I dated a villain."

"Shouldn't you be getting painted?"

Bradley let out a snicker. "I only agreed so I could see you again." He told him and sighed. "I needed an excuse to see you. We were such a wreck when I walked out on you. And I had so many questions."

"I don't want to answer any." Jean said coldly and continued seeping the tea on the hot stove. "I was in a bad place and I have nothing left to say." He stated and felt like crying behind his mask. He didn't want Bradley there, but he didn't want to kick him out. He needed is brother to feel safe and like he could do what he wanted.

Bradley shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you Francis." He said and walked out of the kitchen.

Jean felt his nails cutting into his palms at that. He didn't need Bradley to tell him he was wrong. He didn't live for Bradley. He didn't even love him. He didn't need him.

He wanted him out. Not just out of the house, he wanted him out of his life. He didn't remember any of the happy times they had, or any of the romantic sex sessions. None of the ballet dances they performed together as examples for the new dancers. All he could think of how disappointed he was, and that hurt too much.

He turned away from his tea pot, to walk into the dining room and scream at him. He wasn't sure what he would say, but he just wanted to yell at the handsome romantic man.

The room was spinning as he took the few steps from kitchen to the dining room, but before he could even open his mouth, the room went black, and that was the last thing he remembered.


	6. Not Quitting, Ending

That is, until he woke up. He felt himself being shaken lightly. When he brought himself together, he hardly had opened his eyes, when he watched his younger brother toss a cup of water onto his face without warning.

He jumped up from his lying position on the couch and watched everything in the room spin. His vision was blurry and dizzy, but he was still able to catch Simon, Bradley and Ramon staring with horror in their eyes. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, realizing his mask was off his face and so were his muffler and his jacket. He felt so underdressed.

This is what Bradley wanted, of course. Descole knew that Bradley must have known that all his confidence and all his power was in his outfit. People feared him and that was all he needed. Though, of course, Bradley wouldn't let himself fear Jean. And that made him angry.

"Why did you do that?" He asked about the water and shook out his long wet brown hair, he felt it start to curl lightly as he dried it with his hand. If he didn't comb it while it was wet, it curled and made him appear more feminine. He hated looking feminine. Though, he was far too weak to get up and get a comb, so he would just take a shower later.

"I didn't think you were waking up, I'm sorry big brother." Simon apologized with a slight smile on his face. Still the same sense of humor.

Descole sighed and shook his head. The dizziness in his eyes had faded as he looked up and saw Ramon with a cup of tea and wet wash cloth. "Master, lie down, please." Ramon beseeched and set his things on the table, placing a hand on his employers arm. "You're burning up, I think you might have a fever."

The brunette shook out his now curling hair and pulled is arm away from Ramon's grip. Burning up? He felt like his muscles were freezing over. "I'm fine. I need to practice." He said and stood up. He felt the room become almost black again, but his stood his ground with a stoic expression. He wouldn't let anyone know.

"Practice?" Bradley stood next to him and shook his head. "You are not going to try out for that ballet, are you? You're sick."

"Don't tell me what to do. I made a promise and I am going to stick with it. Now if you excuse me." Jean stated and walked into his large room. He saw the studio mirrors and stood in front of them on the wooden floor. He sighed knowing he would have to practice if he was going to audition tomorrow.

He hastily got dressed in his ballet practice garb and placed a familiar record into the player. He turned it on and stood in front of the mirrors breathing hard. Why was it so hard to breathe? Was he nervous?

He couldn't let himself be nervous. He needed to just practice.

..

The next morning, he woke with a start. The auditions were early and he knew he had to awake even earlier. He looked to the clock and sighed with relief when he found that he didn't have to be at the studio for another couple of hours.

Getting into the shower and quickly getting out, he combed out his hair and threw some clothes on. He walked himself to the living room to his little brother putting finishing touches on that same painting of Bradley. It was quite impressive, it was of him sitting on rocks at some beach, and it certainly highlighted all of his handsome features.

With just a smile and nod from the both of them, they sat in silence before Simon let out, "You aren't really going to try out, are you?"

Descole sighed. "I have to."

"Cici…"

"I made a promise and I am going to show him I am a better person." He said curtly and shook his head.

Simon licked his lips and nodded, obviously disagreeing. He used a paintbrush to push his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes so he could proceed to try and read his brother through his sight. Jean stared back with a raised eyebrow and a cup of coffee noticing that his was trying to get something out of this.

"Do you love him?" Simon finally spoke up and realized his words were too brief. "Bradley, I mean. He told me he loved you."

Jean looked down confused. When did it become normal for a man to love another man? Why didn't it phase his little brother, was more of a confusing question. "No." He said after a moment of thinking. The truth of that statement was he wasn't sure if he actually did love the man or not. He found him familiar and easy to talk to. He was someone who could read his emotions and know what to say to accommodate those emotions and smile when he needed a smile. But that wasn't love.

But then again, what is love? Had he ever actually experienced love?

Years of using men for sex, and being used for sex, he didn't know what love was, other than the platonic feelings he felt for his brother, his mother and his current stepfather. What was he to expect from love? It was such a pointless emotion, why would anyone need that? And that was why he was a villain. That was why he was going masked and wreaking havoc. He didn't need love or any of those emotions.

Though, if that were true, why did his chest hurt thinking about it?

He shook off his emotions and stood up to dress into his dance clothes. He didn't want to change in front of the other people, for he felt vulnerable when he did such things. This was why he kept dressed as a villain. No one knew who he was.

Dressed, he walked out to the living room and smiled at his brother. "I'll be on my way." And before his little brother could suggest going with him, he walked out of the house.

..

Sitting in the audience of the studio, he noticed the women of the ballet tryouts conversing with the two judges, but mostly the male one. He always found the women trying to seduce their way into the lead role of the production, but that was probably true for any gender or any performing arts.

He watched all the dancers trying out take their seats and the judges do the same in the front of the stage. The male judge was a tall older man, with a smile that could cut you. He seemed like he meant business as he stood to get the audience members attention.

When Jean looked around, he noticed the full house of just people walking in to watch. He didn't realize the auditions were open like that. When he noticed how many people were there, he felt his chest tighten. He didn't remember how nerve-wrecking this process was.

"Thank you all for signing up to try out for one of Tchaikovsky's best ballet productions…" He heard from the fierce looking male and let himself space out.

After a couple more words, the judges sat down and asked one man to get up and try out. Obviously, they were doing the men first, which was good for him. Descole could try out, leave for a couple of hours and come back later to check the list and see who made what.

After a couple of other performances, he heard a familiar name called up. "Bradley Cryptsell." He heard from the cutting man and he watched Bradley confidently walk up and smile at the judge. He gave his information and something about himself.

"I am one of those kinds of people who would rather see myself poor and a starving artist, then rich and miserable in some high paying job. Which is why I coach dance and play football in my spare time." He added with a smile, which seemed to please the judges. Unlike the other people who auditioned, he kept his introduction short. He was always one to do that as it seemed. One of the few people he knew who wasn't that conceited.

Damn, he forgot about the part of the audition. What would he say? What is something interesting that would stick in the judges' minds? Oh well, he didn't want the part that bad. He could make something up. He was only doing this to keep a promise.

He watched Bradley's audition and forgot how talented the man was. He was graceful and handsome and found a way to bring masculinity to such a feminine based dance. His moves seemed to captivate his mind as he watched him. This was exactly what happened when he met him. This was how he fell for him. He seemed like some kind of dancing siren who lures people in with his grace and doesn't even realize it.

There was no way the judges could turn him down for the lead. He was perfect. And in some weird way, that made Jean really happy.

He watched his former lover take his seat in the front of the stage after thanking the judge and audience with a bright smile and right after, they happened to call "Francis Smith".

Jean watched Bradley seem to look up confused and look behind him to find him. He watched Bradley lock eyes with him as he stood up and walked to the stage. It took two seconds to climb onto the stage and smile at the audience.

"Right, so you know the drill, who are you, who are you with and something interesting about yourself." He woman judge said with a sweet smile.

Jean stood and shook his head. "I'm…" He felt his voice fade as he realized he had to say his name. "I'm Francis Smith." He said with confidence and looked to Bradley. He would make sure to tell him who he was. He suddenly wanted Bradley back, and he would have him.

"The last place I was with was Cryptsell Studios, with Bradley's mother." He told them, which was quite the truth, surprisingly. The last time he danced was in Bradley's parent's production since they were dance teachers as well. Though as of recently, he guessed it had been passed down to their son, he assumed. Well, it had been a year.

"And if you want to hear something interesting," his voice faded as he looked to the back of the room and noticed someone familiar. A tall man stood in a neatly pressed suit with grey-ish brown hair and what seemed like a condescending smirk. It was Jerome.

How did he know Jean would be here? Why did he follow him?

At the sight of his former stepfather he froze up slightly. He needed to come back. He needed to just audition and forget he was there. Why would he follow him? That question pounded in his mind. He threatened him and he would kill him.

He could kill him. He was right there. He could jump off the stage and run after him and strangle him with his bare hands. His face turning bright blue as he tried to struggle for his life and Jean would just smile. He would smile and let him know, he couldn't hurt him anymore.

He couldn't do that though. He made a promise. He wondered if Jerome had been coming to all his productions. There were not that many ballet tryouts in London and when there were, they seemed to always be in full houses like this. He wondered if he'd been following all of the ballet auditions in London since he left just to stalk him and find him.

He couldn't think of that now. He just had to dance. He looked to the judges and after what seemed like a lifetime of thinking, which was really only a few seconds, he half smiled coyly. "If you want to know something interesting, I'll tell you, I am only doing this because of a promise I made to Bradley Cryptsell. I should probably let you know though, I am a competitive person, and I am also a dangerously interesting person," here he glanced at the man in the back who no longer was smiling, "I am prepared to tell you that I am not the best dancer in this room. I think the best dancer I have ever known is here and he should get the main role. The reason I am telling you this is to prove that I am not a self-centered actor like most of the men and women in this room and this is why am I different. I know that everyone is here because they want the fame and the lights on them, but truthfully, I am here to prove to the best dancer I have ever known that I am a better person then I made myself out to be."

He looked to his father in the back and smiled wider. "And not only that, but to the man in the back room, I know you're there and you get a kick out of seeing me dance." He watched the audience all turn to the back and the judges as well. Jerome looked uneasy. "Oh, and this won't be the last time. If you are still here after this dance, I'll gladly show you how talented I really am, because you don't know who I really am."

After the audience looked back and Jerome stood stoic, the brunette smiled. "Again, I'm Francis Smith, and I am dangerously interesting." He said with a smile and looked to the accompanist. She smiled nodded to him when she started playing and he began dancing.

Francis Smith, acting throughout the whole dance and enjoying the lights on him, kept his eyes off the evil man in the back, and on the judges.

As he let himself be taken into the music he approached the end of the dance. Gracefully dropping his body, he looked to the attractive blond sitting in the front with a worried look on his face. He seemed genuinely interested and entranced but also concerned. He stood up with a hopeful smile on his face, as the music had suggested and he looked to the back. Jerome was nowhere to be seen.

He kept his smile but looked back at the judges. His heart was racing and suddenly room became dizzy again. He was not going to let himself pass out in front of them. He was going to show his stepfather, even if he wasn't in the room, that he was strong then him.

As the music came to a close, he gracefully dropped again and held his arms in, as the song suggested, and looked down the floor. The music stopped and he looked to the man and woman with a smile. "Thank you," he said before falling standing up and he looked to Bradley.

On his way up, he felt even dizzier then before. All his senses were shut off again, as his sight began to turn black. He started walking close to the edge of the stage, not seeing where he was going as everything finally faded out of his vision.

"Damn it!" He heard a familiar curse from the audience as he suddenly felt lifeless in his bones. His muscles and his body were free falling off the stage when he felt himself caught in some ones arms.

He looked up and there was Bradley's concerned face staring at him. "He was there. My stepfather kept looking at me." Jean let out groggily and confused and right then, he blacked out again.

..

When Jean awoke, he noticed he was in a bright white and cream colored room and a different bed. He noticed the grey and blue gown plastered to his body and strange needles and tubes attached to his arms. It reminded him of his lab at his house, but that was certainly not where he was. The bed he was laying on had a slight slant so he was partially sitting up and the sheets were a disgusting boring white.

He was in a goddamn hospital bed.

"You're awake." He heard from next to him and looked to see Bradley looking nervous. "That was a pretty terrifying spill you took." He stood up and sat on the bed next to him. "Everyone in the house was in a state of panic, the judges called an ambulance. They said it wasn't the first time they'd seen that happen."

Jean shook his head and looked down. "I bet I looked ridiculous."

"The only thing that was ridiculous was that ramble you did in your introduction." Bradley explained. "What made that happen? You didn't even look like yourself, or even danced like yourself. You were in some strange trance it seemed like." He said worriedly.

Descole looked down and clenched his jaw thinking about what happened. "That goddamn…" His voice trailed off as he looked at the tubes taped to his arms. He was worried about what they could have been, but he ignored them to tell Bradley the truth. He had too. "I saw my former stepfather in the back of the room. The evil one. He wanted to kill me, I think."

"The man standing in the back, you said?" Bradley questioned. "There were so many people standing, I wasn't sure who you were talking about."

"He was there. He wanted to hurt me and take back his son. I told him not to follow me or I would kill him. He's making me crazy! Why won't he leave me alone?" He suddenly felt tears well up at the thought of that man haunting him for the rest of his life. He had just finally stopped the nightmares from invading his sleep, how could he be so cruel as to make them come back? An evil person such as that couldn't have been human.

Bradley took his hand and shook his head. "Has he been following you?" He asked concerned and stared into the brunette's watering eyes.

Descole shook his head and sighed outwards. "Only in my nightmares. But I don't know anymore, now that I have his son. My baby brother." He wiped away a tear forming and shook his head again. "I can't let him get to me or figure out where I am."

"What did he do to you?" The blonde man held his hand gently as he asked the personal question. He obviously knew it was a touchy subject, for in a second, the waterworks started.

Keeping a straight face, except for biting his lip every now and then, Descole began telling the story of his stepfather with tears on his cheeks. One personal detail at a time, Bradley was soon informed.

"I…I don't know what to tell you." Bradley was at a loss for words. "I don't know what to say. That is horrible. Is…is that the truth?"

Descole nodded and looked down. "I know I lied to you a lot, but this isn't something I can lie about anymore." He licked his lips and shook his head. "What happened to me, what did the doctors say?"

Bradley sighed. "They said you were dehydrated and from the looks at your ex-rays and your body in general, they said it looks like you haven't eaten a normal meal on months. They say you're on the path to emaciation. They're pumping fluids into you so you can go home soon. They said that if you were not eating, they would have to keep you until you gained weight, but I lied and told them you had just had the flu and you were working too hard. They said as soon as they looked after you for a couple of hours, and you seemed less dehydrated, I could take you home if you had someone to watch after you." He explained with a smile. "I know how much you hate doctors."

Jean nodded and smiled through his tears. "Thank you."

Bradley shook his head, his smile fading. "I can't let that man get back to you. Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? I could have protected you more. Maybe I could have stopped you from cheating on me, or I could have stopped you from getting to this point."

"It's not your fault."

"Jean Descole, I won't let you get hurt again." He said using his costume name. "I know we had a terrible past, what with you lying to me, but I won't let you hurt yourself because of something that terrible man did. You're stronger than that, and I won't let that man to come by to hurt you, or your brother."

That was the sentence Jean wanted to hear. He was victorious. "You're too sweet. I am forever in your debt."

"No, just forever in my care. We won't let that man get away with what he did. You're a villain; you've got some crazy contraptions, don't you?" Bradley laughed and kissed his hand lightly. "That is, if you're okay with me tagging along?"

"Are you okay to live a criminal life?" Jean asked with a half-smile. "Can your sweet conscious take that?"

"If it means making sure you're okay, Jean, I can do anything for you."

"Then we have to get you a mask."

For the first time in a long time, Descole felt safer. Now the only obstacle would be getting back Jerome Moreau, but he had a feeling he could now achieve that goal, with the help of an assistant. A sweet, attractive and familiar assistant, of course.

Nothing could stop Jean Descole now. Now, it was only a matter of time.

Fin

**So thanks for reading everyone. And thanks to my four reviewers! Even though according to my Story Stats, I get like 20 Visitors and like 30 Hits every day. I feel like four is a really small number compared to that? Is my story that bad? Ha ha!**

**So yeah, review and tell me if you'd want a sequel! We could see what Descole finally does to his father, see how his apprentices help, add more Layton and Luke, possible Lando, more puzzles! I really just like Bradley as a character. I'm upset I didn't give enough character development to him.**

**Anyway, thanks a bunch, review nicely, and tell me what you think. Love you all!**


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